


My Mind to Your Mind

by Rrrowr



Series: Teen Wolf Drabbles [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Season/Series 01, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: Maybe crashing his Jeep on purpose was a bad idea, but never ever did Stiles expect Peter to protect him in the impact or to shake off his daze only to have Peter's thoughts slipping into his mind as if they were his own. Or vice versa, in fact, which is going to make escaping much more difficult.





	

Maybe crashing his Jeep on purpose was a bad idea, but never ever did Stiles expect Peter to protect him in the impact or to shake off his daze only to have Peter's thoughts slipping into his mind as if they were his own. Or vice versa, in fact, which is going to make escaping much more difficult.

"Oh, _please_. I was going to let you go anyway," Peter snaps, though he's not looking too pleased at having a teenager privy to his evil master plans either. Peter pinches his nose. "Please stop thinking I'm evil."

*

So that's how it started – maybe five minutes but more like five hours ago – but this is how it is: Stiles doesn’t have half the time he feels he needs to get used to this telepathy stuff, but he’s fairly certain he has some kind of handle on it by the time he feels the burning satisfaction of Kate’s death take him to the ground with its intensity. Then it’s the ice cold taste for murder and Allison screaming and Scott heading into the house with Stiles on his heels, and Stiles shouldn’t even know what it feels like to want to protect a pack mate but when he throws himself between Peter and Allison with Scott at his side, that’s exactly the feeling that’s crawling through his nerves.  
  
“Stop,” he says. Scott makes a surprised scoffing noise close to Stiles’ knee because he doesn’t know what Stiles knows and Stiles hasn’t had a chance to explain, but he can do that later. Right now, he just wants everyone to be safe. ( _Everyone_ , he stresses for Peter’s benefit.) “Peter, please.”  
  
“She was part of the family responsible,” Peter tells him.

Peter’s thoughts are a clawing mess, desperate and mindless, and Stiles shoves at them. Who would want them, after all? Who wants an Alpha that’s mindless? That can’t be reasoned with or convinced away from the edge of madness? Who would accept the bite from any wolf that couldn’t control themselves?

“Allison isn’t responsible. She didn’t know,” Stiles says, holding out a placating hand. “You’ve achieved your revenge. You’ve won. Listen to me, Peter. _Please_.”

Worry is still a jackrabbit beat in his blood, but amazingly, Peter takes a step back, fangs withdrawn and the Alpha gone. Peter frowns but nods. “As you wish.”

*

Afterward, Peter has a hard enough time concentrating on the negotiations with the Argents as it is with the desire to rip out their throats still floating around in his head, but it’s remarkably difficult to remember why tearing them to pieces is at all a priority when Stiles is nearby – well out of arm’s reach and hearing range, but ever present in the back of Peter’s mind, like an itch that he needs to scratch. It’s moreso a problem when it becomes clear that Stiles’ first instinct, post life threatening adrenaline rush, is to _prove_ how alive he still is.

He can feel Stiles’ arousal as if it were his own. The thoughts are chaotic, but the resulting feelings are sharp and crystalline. Peter can taste it in his mouth – all that want, all the relief and elation, the cruelly slow climb to completion. God, he hasn’t felt those things in years and it makes his body hum right below the skin, as if he’d jump out of it and into Stiles if he could.  
  
“Derek,” Peter says abruptly. He hasn’t been listening to Argents at all. “Handle the rest of this.”

Stiles knows that Peter’s on his way. His anticipation bleeds across Peter’s tongue, delicious and dark, and his thoughts tell Peter everything he needs to know to get into the house. 

“Meddlesome,” Peter mutters after he’s fit the spare key into the lock and climbed up the stairs to Stiles’ bedroom. He sheds his coat to the ground, follows it with his shirt, and meets Stiles’ searching hands with a groan. “I don’t even like you.”

“Sure, okay,” Stiles says, tilting his head up for a kiss.

Stiles doesn’t believe him, of course. Even if he did, Peter doesn’t think Stiles would care so long as Peter touched him, which he does, cupping his hand between Stiles’ bare legs to reach the hot length of his cock and shoving up Stiles’ shirt to mouth at his ribs and nipples and the fragile breast bone. Stiles clings to him, digging his nails into Peter’s shoulders, and Peter wants – very suddenly – to have all of him. To have every inch of this eager intelligent boy as his own.

Hissing, Stiles arches against Peter’s mouth, and his fingers curl into Peter’s hair, pulling him up for the kiss he wanted earlier. Peter kisses him and means it. He takes tastes from Stiles’ mouth and savors every shuddering gasp he’s able to wrangle from between those lips. Then Stiles whimpers and shifts against Peter, smearing precome against his stomach.

As Peter slides down the bed, kissing down Stiles’ neck, he barely knows what he’s saying. What he’s offering except that he’s wanted to and hasn’t had time. “If you wanted, I would–”

“Yes,” Stiles says with a sob of clear want hanging in the back of his throat.

Peter rumbles out a low growl against Stiles’ dick, nuzzling under it and breathing in the stink of hard arousal, and then bares his fangs against Stiles’ hip. “Stiles,” he says.

Stiles only moans into his pillows. Everything else screams consent and Peter bites down.


End file.
